As
my musical interests continue to grow and diversify, I’ve found that the
greatest surprises don’t always stem from stumbling upon a little-known artist,
but from rediscovering new things about the artists to whom I used to listen, whose
CDs I spun to death in middle school and about whom I thought I knew
everything. When I began exploring ska music in my senior year of high school,
I was shocked to find that so many of the bands I loved and listened to either
already fell into that genre or had dabbled in its sound. Thus, when I again
came across Smash Mouth’s Fush Yu Mang,
I was hardly surprised to find it soaked in upstroke guitar chords and horn
arrangements. If anything, they only solidified my resolve to re-experience
this band that, when I was quite young, had meant the world to me.
For
my eleventh birthday, I received as a gift my first ever CD, the inaugural
album that would kick off a lifetime obsession. This album was Smash Mouth’s
sophomore effort, Astro Lounge, and
although I hardly listened to anything but “All Star,” for the next few years,
I proclaimed Smash Mouth my favorite band. I quickly abandoned that record and
that band, however, once Goldfinger entered my life, and it wasn’t until my
senior year of high school, playing in a ska/punk band with my three best
friends, that my drummer burned me a copy of Smash Mouth’s first record, Fush Yu Mang. As I spun the CD for the
first time, I was floored to find ska and punk influences from a band I’d once
loved, but had gone years without hearing, and with each subsequent listen, my
former obsession with Smash Mouth again began to bloom.
Fush Yu Mang is three
things: energetic, diverse, and tons of fun. Smash Mouth is a band that thinks
while it plays, and all four musicians provide us with intricate compositions
that capture our attention without sacrificing an ounce of energy or
enthusiasm. Furthermore, when they decide on a sonic avenue for a tune, they
absolutely nail it: their punk thrashes about in distortion and slash beats,
their ska skanks against the beat with upstroke barre chords, and their pop
grooves with impeccable melody and upbeat progressions. Smash Mouth plays into
each genre completely, but the music never deviates from sounding like Smash
Mouth. The sounds these four gentlemen create are their own brand, through
which they express and experiment with different tastes and styles, and the end
result is brilliance.
The
distinct musical flavor of Fush Yu Mang stems
from Smash Mouth’s commitment to their music. Their sound is honest and whole
because they are first and foremost making this music for themselves—they play
what they want to play, regardless of genre labels or outside expectations. In
an interview with NY Rock, singer
Steve Harwell remarked: “When we formed the band in 1994, we didn’t have one
style of music in mind. We wanted to write songs that feel good to us and make
others feel good. The question of a particular style never once crossed our
minds.”[1]
It is this simple
delight in creation that gives Fush Yu
Mang such an accessible sound, one that invites the listener back time and
time again. Furthermore, the fact that they produced this record entirely on
their own,[2] without the input
of countless detached corporate bodies, shows that Smash Mouth is a band
committed to their craft and everything it represents about them as individuals
and as a band.
While there is a plethora of sounds to sample of Fush Yu Mang, the focus lies in the thin
area between punk rock and ska. Greg Camp’s guitar playing is forefront in both
mix and composition on this record, and his choice between clean barre chords
or dirty power chords is the base to which the rest of the band reacts with immaculate
fervor. For instance, “Flo,” the record’s opening track, tears out of the gate
with a monster beat worthy of moshing. While the verses are peppered with ska,
the song’s vehicle is distilled punk: Kevin Coleman trashes his kit while
Harwell accusatorily shouts “Who the fuck you think you’re foolin?,”[3]
pleading with his girlfriend to cease deluding herself in her unresolved
feelings for her former lover. While “Flo” erupts off of the disc like a missile,
in sharp contrast, “Disconnect the Dots” completely foregoes that punk vehemence
to focus on a full ska arrangement. A bright and beaming horn section owns the
intro, and Paul De Lisle’s bass walks perfectly lock with Greg Camp’s clean
upstrokes. Topped with gang vocals in the chorus, “Disconnect the Dots” encapsulates the ska side of Smash Mouth,
standing in stark contrast to the more battering beats of “Flo” and proving
this band has an incredible capacity for diversity in their music.
Smash Mouth’s mastery of their craft is hardly limited to the
instrumentals. Fush Yu Mang is laden
with lyrics that are engaging, cognitive, and especially fun. Smash Mouth has a
serious sense of humor which they constantly flaunt: “Beer Goggles” describes
the 2 A.M. slump in standards, “Padrino” marks the invention of the new genre
“mafia rock,” facetiously celebrating the lifestyle of the mob, and “Flo” and
“Heave-Ho” both capture different chapters in the band’s history, retold in
hilarious hindsight.[4]
Other songs take on a more serious tack, addressing real issues of the world
from which this band arose. “Nervous in the Alley” deals with the effects of
parental abandonment, giving us graphic images of a girl “waiting for her fix”
and paying for it with her body.[5]
Similarly, “Walkin’ on the Sun,” the record’s seemingly upbeat lead single, is
actually a call to arms, urging us to “snuff the fires and the liars” that
dictate our world’s behavior before the entire thing gets “bushwhacked.”[6]
Smash Mouth uses their debut record to paint a portrait of their world, and
every tale is regaled through interesting language that ranges from hilarious
to horrifying.
In my opinion, Fush Yu
Mang is a remarkably deep first record, and each track features some idea
or riff into which I can really sink my teeth—with the exception of
one. Unfortunately for this band, there
is one fatally crappy song on this record, the penultimate track “Push.” The
instrumentation, while partially interesting with its effect-laden guitar parts
and slight tempo changes in the verse, feels very rushed and underdeveloped,
giving me the impression that this song was more than likely written in the
studio right before recording. And if the riffs took fifteen minutes to flesh
out, the lyrics must have materialized in less than five, as they completely
lack for any semblance of meaning, emotion, coherence, or even rhyme. Harwell
rants at some undefined adversary, seeming to cycle through every limp cliché
he can think of while he “spin[s his] wheels and [tries] to figure it out.”[7]
There is no focus for the song other than vague and meaningless expressions of
frustration, but the vocals are front and center in the mix and composition,
thus giving the listener absolutely nothing to which the listener can relate.
“Push” might border on absolute drivel, but it is an anomaly
in the sea of awesome music that is Fush
Yu Mang. Every other tune displays deep thought and honest enthusiasm from
start to finish, and none more so than “Heave-Ho.” A three minute Smash Mouth
history lesson, “Heave-Ho” relates the band’s true experience with a crotchety
neighbor[8]
who is so unpleasant, even “church mice at St. Leo’s down my street / have
moved so far away.” Because the band practiced (and later recorded demos of two
Fush Yu Mang tracks) in Greg Camp’s
apartment, they quickly received an eviction notice,[9]
which they attributed to the complaints “lazy cow” next door. Harwell sings of
the band’s plight with a serious tone, but his language is completely
laughable, as he compares his future to hers: “Maybe someday when I’m jaded / 9
to 5 at a job I hate / I’ll come home and razz my neighbors too.”[10]
“Heave-Ho” is an honest and hilarious assessment of the troubles of being in a
band while hanging on those myriad naysayers that attempt to impede every
musician’s crusade for creativity.
From its inception, Fush
Yu Mang was never meant to be more than a collection of Smash’s Mouth’s
enthusiasm for their craft, and there is no lack for integrity or intellect on
this record. Both the content and the performance are exuberantly enjoyable,
but the delivery system of genre-hopping composition and spirited word play
keep the listener’s mind as engaged as the heart. Listening to it now, I now
have no doubt as to why the eleven-year-old me loved this band, and why the
eighteen-year-old me adored this record: there is simply too much fun to be
had.
Tunes to Check Out: 1) Flo 2) Why Can't We Be Friends? 3) The Fonz
In
digging through my albums to find a subject for an article, many of the CDs I
end up writing about are ones with which I have history. Some I’ve played
almost to the point of breaking them, while others I’ve owned for years and have
hardly listened past the radio singles. For records such as these, previous
opinions of a younger and less-eclectic me are stuffed inside the jewel cases,
and when I break out those discs to give them a true listen, I find that the
new opinions and the old rarely match up. Often the songs I once adored, radio
hits and catchy choruses, take a backseat to the deep cuts, where the artists
weren’t afraid to experiment or embed some easter egg for the listener. And
more often, the songs that I hated and misunderstood become songs I cannot stop
playing, which was absolutely the case when I began spinning Soundgarden’s Superunknown.
When
I first listened to that record around the age of fourteen, there were a bunch
of songs I just didn’t “get,” but none more so than the closer “Like Suicide.”
Although the chorus was cool and catchy, my overall impression of the tune was
a resounding meh. It was slow, Chris’ singing was drawn out and moany and
lacked for the screaming power that he employed through the rest of the record,
and worst of all, it was long. I
didn’t understand it, and what I could understand I didn’t much care for, so I
didn’t listen to it. I went years without ever tasting Superunknown in its entirety, because I knew that the final course
was a drawn-out jam that took forever to get going.
This
impression of “Like Suicide” sat somewhere in my head for almost a decade,
until I decided to return to the record with an open mind, and this time
around, I felt as if I was hearing a completely different song. Immediately,
Matt Cameron establishes a groove with his drum beat, releasing the snare and
creating a more primal sound. As the guitars enter, alternating between a
swelling riff and spacious chords, the song’s eerie and somber tone
materializes, a perfect introduction for Chris’ soulful vocal. The song takes
its time to slowly build in energy and intensity: Chris’ vocals increasingly
push the volume and range upward, until Cameron flips his snare back on and
smacks his drum, igniting the tune into a new level of heaviness. All of this leads
up to a ripping solo from Kim Thayil, who completely melts the face of his
fretboard with speedy runs and precise melodies. This lead pulls the groove all
the way to the end, where the band sinks into a quiet and weighty final chorus.
Perhaps
it was my youthful naiveté that kept me from appreciating this song the first
time around, but now I find “Like Suicide” to be completely fascinating. The
song’s composition alone is extraordinary; with “Like Suicide,” Soundgarden
avoids standard structure, delivering all the verses before building to the
chorus, rather than alternating between the parts. The focus on dynamics,
building the tune to the point of explosion, is brilliant and poignant, a
musical background to the final breath about which the lyrics revolve. Also,
the guitars’ Open-D tuning allows for a deliciously spacious timbre, creating
room for Chris’ vocals to flutter about as they dive and rise.
Every
choice this band makes for the song is well-placed and deftly executed,
creating the perfect musical movement for Chris’ lyrics, which describe an
incident that occurred as he was composing. According to an interview with Melody Maker, after hearing a loud
thumping noise outside his house, Chris found “a beautiful female robin
writhing on the ground. She’d broken her neck flying into the window.” It fell
to Chris to end the creature’s suffering with a brick, immediately after which
he was inspired to write “Like Suicide.”[1]
Through the incident, Chris became intertwined with this bird’s final moments,
and his connection with the suicidal robin bleeds into his poetry. In the first
verse, he relates the discovery of his “broken gift” lying “dazed out in a
garden bed / With a broken neck.” But as he ends her suffering, he becomes
entangled in the experience of her death, finding a “taste so sour” in his
mouth as he “wield[s] a ton of rage.” Finally, he memorializes this strange
moment and strange bird that “lived like a murder” until the moment the brick
fell.[2] Chris’
lyrics are morbid but poignant, and his vocal is as respectful as it is
earnest. This combines with the dynamic approach of the music to create a sort
of eulogy, a celebration of an uncommon death.
Regardless of the intelligent and
meticulous musical choices, the powerful inspiration stemming from the
incident, the entire tune feels riddled with truth and reality. Listening to it
now, I see easily how such a song could have completely eluded my young teenaged
mind. Now, I find in its seven minutes so much honest connection with the
concept of death, as well as the complete bewilderment it brings every time it
seeps into our lives, for, as Soundgarden makes apparent, there is nothing the
living understand less than death.
Though I’ve spent much of my time diving
into mostly independent acts, my CD collection is hardly lacking for seminal
records. In fact, much of my current exploration was kicked off by listening to
those records that had been deemed imperative by rock enthusiasts. As I entered
high school, my interest in Seattle’s grunge scene had begun to blossom, and
when I received Soundgarden’s Superunknown
for Christmas one year, I was overjoyed. For the next five years, I spun this
record so often that my dizziness forced me to shelve it for a while, but in
returning to it now, I find that I have an even deeper appreciation for the
fifteen songs that define Superunknown.
Anyone who spins Superunknown will quickly realize just why this record is revered.
The array of sounds that these four musicians compile throughout the album is
extremely diverse, a fact hardly undue to the four talented musicians who put
it together. Kim Thayil’s guitar seems to touch upon every possible genre and
mode available to him as he grinds through heavy chords in “4th of July,”
whirls along strange scales in “Head Down,” and shreds across the fretboard in
“Like Suicide.” Chris Cornell’s vocals similarly climb and dive along energy,
volume, and tone, screaming in songs like “Let Me Drown” while walking along
above a whisper in “Fell on Black Days.” Behind this chaos is more chaos, as
Ben Shepard beats strange and complicated lines out of his bass, and Matt
Cameron smashes his set with steady hits and teases his cymbals into madness
with gentle taps. This duo locks itself into a tight unit of rhythm while
playing with high caliber attitudes, taking tunes like “My Wave” and “Spoonman”
and turning them into rhythm-driven monsters.
The four members of Soundgarden are
ostensibly a tight-knit unit with almost-familial chemistry, and this complete
musical synthesis allows them to create extremely complex and intrinsically
intelligent compositions. For Superunknown,
all four members are principal writers, and the resulting conflicts and
synchronicities in style and thought allow for insanely interesting songs to
form. In an interview with Guitar World,
producer Michael Beinhorn commented that this record is “four guys with
completely different points of view about how they compose and what they like,”
the results of which, while remaining undoubtedly Soundgarden, “represents more
of what they're about as individuals.”[1]
This convergence of individual thinkers
is one of the reasons why Superunknown
is laden with technical choices, including a pile of odd time signatures: “Fell
on Black Days” and “Fresh Tendrils” are in 6/4, both “Spoonman” and “The Day I
Tried to Live” groove between 4/4 and 7/4, and “Limo Wreck” stomps through a
maddening 15/8. Interlocking with these syncopal structures are the many
alternate tunings employed by the guitarists, including Drop-D (“Spoonman,”
“Let Me Drown,” “Black Hole Sun”), Drop-C (“Mailman,” Limo Wreck”), Open-C
(“Half,” “Head Down,”), Open-D “(Like Suicide), and even the ridiculously
overlapping EEBBBB (“My Wave,” “The Day I Tried to Live”).[2]
And although Kim Thayil asserts that such insanities are naught but “a total
accident,”[3] he
may be suffering from a bout of humility; there is a clear method containing
all this madness, for every note on Superunknown
feels precisely natural. Soundgarden’s four members may have been writing for
themselves on this record, but the ultimate product is something as cohesive as
it is manifold.
Although the shape and structure of the
songs on this album are as varied as snowflakes, these musicians connect best
as a unit, and the consensus apparently was to write a record that is both dark
and heavy. The guitars chug and the drums pound, while Cornell’s deviant and
oppressed poetics mix with his soulful vocals to imbue dismal emotion with a
terrifyingly gritty and brutally genuine authenticity. For me, one of the darkest
tunes on the record is the trudging “Mailman,” whose pulverizing, distorted
guitar progression sounds like a B-side from Black Sabbath’s Paranoid sessions. This slow progression
is built over two initial measures of 4/4 followed by a measure in 7/8 and a
measure in 6/8, a movement that reflects the slow but sure diminishing voice
that plagues Chris Cornell’s lyrics. While the band slogs along beneath him
with heavy chords, booming hits, and rumbling bass, Cornell intones in the
voice of the formerly oppressed that have risen above their oppressors. Once
the “dirt beneath your feet,” Cornell has finally found both recognition and
power, and the crushed now gets to do the crushing. With an almost sickly moan,
he wails “this time I’m sure you’ll know that I am here,” before riding the
object of his loathing “all the way” to the bottom.[4]
Chris’ character seems willing to destroy himself if only to even the score,
his revenge fueled by pure hatred and unfettered by any sense of self
preservation. Between the rattling main riff and Cornell’s vocal, “Mailman” is
defined by absolute hopelessness, a song stained black with utter despair.
Similar to the pervading darkness, Superunkown is defined by its
unrelenting heavy tone, upon which apparently most of the time recording was
spent perfecting.[5]
There is a significant weight present in the guitar sound, which permeates each
tune regardless of energy or subject matter, and for no song on Superunknown is this truer than “Head
Down.” Penned and arranged by bassist Ben Shepard, “Head Down” features an
acoustic rhythm guitar layered with a distorted and reverb-laden electric
guitar, the combination of which is surprisingly deep and resonant. In an
interview with Melody Maker, Cornell
described the song as “a big, wide, open song” that “sounds like a place,”[6]
and certainly the soaring and interlocking guitar parts in the main riff, not
to mention Cameron’s improv-heavy drumming, paint their own musical landscape;
however, when the guitars begin strumming chords under Chris’ falsetto, this
scene suddenly becomes more nightmarish, as the blending acoustic and electric
create a sound that is nothing but sinister. The sweeping space of the song
suddenly shrinks into a stifling cell as Chris demands, “Bow down to live your
life.”[7]
Furthermore, the seemingly random percussion layered in the background is
reminiscent of either hard labor or gunshots, thus morphing this cramped space
into an oppressive one, such as a prison or POW camp. Though a relatively
simple and quiet tune from this record, “Head Down” carries both a sonic and
emotional heaviness on its back that contradicts its gentle demeanor.
Burgeoning from the lyrical content of Superunknown is a whole slew of dark
themes and ideas that further knits the record together. Cornell contributed
the bulk of the poetry on the album, and it is easily evident that he is in
touch with his inner disturbances. Death and destruction are heavy influences on
Chris’ hand, as he describes an LSD-induced apocalypse in “4th of
July” and the karmic payout of decadence in “Limo Wreck.”[8] In
a similar vein, both “Fell on Black Days” and “The Day I Tried to Live” revolve
around the idea of being unable to conquer the troubles of living—in these
songs, living is figurative suffering, an idea which is explored more literally
in “Head Down” and “Mailman.”
One could easily argue these depressing
themes have been far overworked in music, but Cornell’s linguistic choices in
presenting them gives fresh breath to this beaten corpse. Although his imagery
is relatively sparse, Cornell nails the listener with vivid images that become
lodged in the head. Rather than focus on visuals, however, Soundgarden’s
frontman employs heavy use of contrast, contradiction, and paradox, giving us
phrases that ignite our brains into intellectual frenzies. In “Superunknown,”
he uses his verses to destroy the automatic associations we create with words,
such as “If this doesn’t make you free / It doesn’t mean you’re tied / If this
doesn’t take you down / It doesn’t mean you’re high.”[9] A
similar contrast is employed in “Fell on Black Days,” as he moans “Whomsoever
I’ve cured I’ve sickened now / And whomsoever I cradled, I’ve put you down.”[10] Cornell
even applies this idea of contradiction to an entire song in “Spoonman.”
Written for the Seattle street performer Artis the Spoonman, Cornell states
that “Spoonman” is about “the paradox of who [Artis] is and what people
perceive him as.”[11]
In such ways, the lyrics present on Superunknown
effectively tap into the darkest parts of our psyche by breaking down both the
language and the thought processes that give shape to the world around us,
using our own minds to better capture and proliferate the themes of the record.
In crawling back to Superunknown after years of hiatus, I must say that I am even more
impressed with how cognitive and tremendous this record is. I do, however, have
one bone to pick with Soundgarden, or more specifically, Matt Cameron. Although
an undeniably talented drummer (Pearl Jam picked him up, after all,[12]
and he was also featured on Smashing Pumpkins’ Adore[13]),
Cameron’s beats are very simple and full of open space. And while I can
truthfully say I’ve never heard a drummer so effectively employ negative space,
I feel that his lack of improvisation, attack or even fills pins the album’s
energy to the ground, keeping songs that would otherwise explode in a fiery
mass from even popping. There is so much dead air in his percussion that if
that’s what you’re focusing on, you can very quickly lose interest in the
music.
Despite this single misgiving,
Soundgarden’s Superunknown has
undeniably earned its place in the list of seminal rock records. With abrasive
guitars, heady composition, and thoughtful lyrics, Superunknown’s fifteen tracks inspire the body to move and the mind
to whirl. There is no shortage of interesting moments or innovative concepts on
this record, yet the soul of the band is what is forefront, because, as Kim
Thayil put it, “We’re not throwing our brain at people….we’re sharing our
heart.”[14]
With Superunknown, Soundgarden
delivers both the cerebral and the meaningful via tunes that are extremely
catchy, a prodigious combination that makes each listen as dangerous as it is brilliantly
fun.
Tunes to Check Out: 1) Mailman 2) Fresh Tendrils 3) Like Suicide
If I am anything, it is a lover of
music, and this love has inspired me to create my own for over a decade now.
Playing the bass guitar has been my passion since the moment I picked it up,
and though I have performed in multiple bands with dozens of musicians in my
time, my current project is something with so much drive and innovation that I
am perpetually blown away by both its potential and its achievement. That said,
allow me to (shamelessly) promote my own agenda, and introduce you to the act
for which I am privileged to provide strings and backing vocals, Hiss the
Villain.
After the dissolution of the ska outfit
Nothing to Prove, Dylan [drums/percussion] and I continued writing music as a
duo, under the moniker The Rob Approach. Within six months we had recorded a
six-track demo (including an early take of “Wicked Self”), but between school
and work, we found it hard to keep up the momentum. During this time, I had the
great fortune of meeting Ðemi [vocals/guitar] and Amanda [bass guitar], who had
been writing music for years as the Ðemi Project, but had yet to locate
like-minded musicians to join them. After a few casual jam sessions and a trip
to the restaurant Gippers, the decision was made to combine forces, and thus
began Hiss the Villain.
Our influences span the entire genre
spectrum, drawing on acts as energetic as At the Drive-In and Norma Jean, as
intricate as The Mars Volta and The Dillinger Escape Plan, or as colorful as
Death Cab for Cutie and Silversun Pickups. Our blend of sophisticated melodies
and unadulterated energy is unique, engaging, and guaranteed to leave you
craving more. And yes, you are seeing two bass guitars.
For the past year, we have been hard at
work writing original music, collaborating to create complex and interesting compositions
as well as working to provide an energetic and extraordinary live performance.
You can catch us next at The Webster
Underground in Hartford, CT this Friday, June 27th. Tickets are
available through any one of us or right here.
Besides the obvious personal benefits, I
urge you, dear reader, to check out Hiss the Villain, and see what all the fuss
is about. Because there is a hell of a lot of fuss, and only more to come. I
will be posting updates as HTV continues to book shows and hit milestones, so keep
checking back!
A couple of
years ago, while I was in college, a friend of mine insisted I come listen to
something. “Check out this guitar intro,” he said, starting the YouTube video.
“It’s so dirty.” The opening notes to “Icarus Lives!” by Periphery leaked
through the speakers, and when the beat dropped, my eyes widened. Immediately,
I knew that “dirty” was the only word to accurately capture the sounds shaking
the table beneath the laptop. The heavy yet melodic composition along with the
precise polyrhythms impressed me, and a few years later, when I came across
their debut record, I decided it was certainly time to find out just how
“dirty” Periphery could be.
Within thirty
seconds of popping that CD into my car stereo, I realized that Periphery’s
self-titled debut record is HEAVY. Between low drop tunings, seven-string
guitars, frothing distortion, and a thunderous bass drum, this record sounds
like it weighs a couple hundred tons. Matt Halpern’s kit explodes with each
hit, and Tom Murphy’s bass is surprisingly full underneat the onslaught of the
guitars. And whereas most string sections stop at three members, this band
sports four; taking a card from the Eagles and Lynyrd Skynyrd decks and tuning
it down three octaves, guitarists Misha Mansoor, Alex Bois and Jake Bowen all
ride their low strings almost religiously, creating chugs so deep that only
giant squid are able to hear them. With the low end section filled to the brim,
one might expect the higher end to be all but missing, Periphery deploys their
guitarists in such a way that someone is always covering the treble section.
Furthermore, to break up the djent onslaught, the band inserts small vignettes
between their tunes, using bright guitars and programmed beats to lighten the
mood before they plunge it into the abyss.
Anyone who
spends a few moments with this record would agree that the musicians in this band
are undeniably talented, and the composition on Periphery unrelentingly reflects this. Almost all riffs are
constructed on complicated polyrhythms, most of which extend over multiple
measures before reaching their repeat point. And because that’s obviously not
complex enough, they paste these rhythms over a myriad of time signatures, and
often switch between them mid-song—the fifteen-minute juggernaut “Racecar”
features 16 time signature changes, and that’s not counting the many riffs that
tack on an extra beat at the end before repeating. Of course, all this might
make Periphery sound like undercover inhuman robots, but vocalist Spencer
Sotelo’s soaring melodies and heady screams guide the compositions into more
palatable territory, utilizing simple but interesting melodies to keep
interested even those wholly unfamiliar with music as heavy as djent. All in
all, Periphery presents a full musical set-up that has a lot going for it, and
leaves a lot behind in the listener’s ears and mind.
An excellent
example of Periphery’s mix of heavy and catchy is the song that got me hooked,
“Icarus Lives!” Opening with that dirty and delirious guitar riff, this tune
kicks off in typical djent style, writhing with heavy palm-muted chords and
bass beats, yet the guitar trio also weaves in sections of light chords and
clean picking. Similarly, Spencer Sotelo alternates between soaring melodies
and throaty shouting, beginning the chorus by singing the line “I’m neither
angel nor a demon spawn” before blending into screams with lines like “Though
some will call me god / Gravity is just a law I’ve wrought.” The lyrical
imagery is extremely poetic, as spinning imagery of flight with an air of
complete arrogance, with the speaker declaring that he will “never kneel again”
because flight is his “nocturnal right.”[1]
“Icarus Lives!” captures every facet of the myth after which it is named,
expressing both blissful excitement and brutal hubris through complex
composition that simultaneously uplifts the listener as it forces their head to
explode.
Although
released in 2010, Periphery is a
record with a long and elaborate history, having gone through five years and
multiple lineup changes before it became an actual thing. In an interview with Metal Sucks, Misha stated that Periphery
had been “planning on putting out this album since at least the end of 2005 or
early 2006….It’s kind of crazy.”[2] Both the amount of time and the changing
of hands has allowed many former musicians to leave their imprint on the
record, especially the lyrics. Though Spencer expertly fills the roles of
vocalist and frontman on the album, these are positions that he inherited
shortly before the album was released, and so he had little time to truly
customize the compositions for himself. As such, all of the lyrics and most of
the melodies that he sings were actually written by former lead singers Casey
Sabol and Chris Barretto, and include contributions from the rest of the band
as well.[3]
In any other
situation, trading off this responsibility over the course of three different
people would result in utter disaster, since there is no way these disconnected
singers can fully realize what the other was trying to say. Yet surprisingly, Periphery lacks this bedlam and
insanity, and truly feels like a unified record instead of a pile of songs,
possibly because almost all the tunes explore similar themes with their lyrics.
Classical mythology is embedded in many of the tunes: “Icarus Lives!” takes on
the form of Icarus as he flies, while “Letter Experiment” paints the scene of
Charon ferrying souls across the river Styx. Along a similar vein, other songs
wade through philosophical territory regarding life and death: “Ow My Feelings”
seems to imagine the first steps into the afterlife, “Zyglrox” describes the
onset of true enlightenment, and “All New Materials” postulates the concept of
reincarnation. Though it would appear
every member of Periphery, past and present, had some hand in the creation of
the lyrics, the unity of theme and thought that is apparently present suggests
that these musicians are all linked in their inspiration, making this record
read like a manuscript penned by a hive mind.
One tune that
interrogates this theme of philosophical thinking is “The Walk,” an epic
examination of humanity’s confusing quest for spiritual enlightenment. Opening
with a disgustingly heavy guitar riff, which somehow only gets heavier as the
song progresses, “The Walk” tears apart the mess of theological and
philosophical views on the meaning of life. The band rips through polyrhythmic
chugs as Spencer bellows of “the uncertainty of my existence…decided by choice
of a path I must walk.” He explores the possibility of higher intelligence with
the line “Reach for the light / Feel the hand of God,” before remarking on the
possibility that God is simply a manmade construct with the line “Born of
nothing / My thoughts are unconditional.” Furthermore, the lyrics go on to
suggest that the pursuit of the afterlife can prevent us from experiencing this
existence: “Higher / Searching for the light / We leave this world behind.” Between
palm-muted chords and soaring solos, “The Walk” dissects the drive of humanity
to continue living, concluding that whether we “bow down to the gods / or keep
walking further,” true enlightenment will one day find us all.[4]
Though my review
of this record has been solidly positive thus far, Periphery is not without its weaknesses. Matt Halpern grossly
under-deploys both his high hats and his ride cymbal, choosing instead to beat
his crashes to death (possibly because he recorded using an electric kit and
midi patches)[5],
and his bass drum seems stuck to the guitar without a hint of improvisation or
flourish. Obviously, this band’s sound thrives through its technicality, and so
much so that, unless you are both a musician and good at math, you may find
yourself completely lost in the strange syncopation and accents that each riff
bears. This constant of brain-driven riffing carries over into almost every
tune, making some pieces hard to distinguish and even harder to follow, which
unfortunately allows whole sections of the record to blur together. Truthfully,
even after a month of spinning this CD nonstop, it is a trial to distinguish
“Totla Mad,” “Ow My Feelings,” and “Zyglrox,” as all three are steeped in low
tunings, dissonant chugs, and speed-metal drumming.
Periphery may have its flaws, but all told it is
a very solid and very “dirty” record. It’s hard not to be impressed by the
impeccable musicianship, and the production is absolutely flawless for
something that was recorded, mixed, and assembled all in Misha’s bedroom. Yet
even more apparent is the fact that, despite countless line-up changes and
hours of grueling work, Periphery had a ton of fun making this record. Between
goofy song titles like “Jetpacks Was Yes!” and the hidden commercial after
“Icarus Lives!,” this band’s sense of humor is just as present as their drive
to succeed. One listen will let you know that Periphery is working towards
success, but without compromising their own ideals and personalities, because
as Misha puts it, “If we really cared about fame or fortune, we wouldn’t be
playing fucking progressive metal.”[6]
This honesty gives Periphery a
refreshing sound that resonates and remains, proving that dedication to one’s
goals and oneself can truly result in fascinating and incredible things.
Tunes to Check Out: 1) The Walk 2) Icarus Lives! 3) Letter Experiment
Disclaimer: The following piece is a super in-depth look at one of my favorite records, and as such, it is riddled with personal opinions and praise for said record. This cannot be helped.
Though I’ve spent the last decade immersed in music, diving
into new genres and endlessly working to expand my sonic horizons, only one
band has held my fascination and reverence through the whole journey. Since my
teens, Goldfinger has been my absolute favorite artist, my gateway into punk
and ska, and the main inspiration behind all my musical endeavors. No matter
how many times I’ve heard one of their songs, each listen is as fresh and
awe-inspiring as the very first time, and even at their worst, Goldfinger adds
some incredible element to their music that keeps me both interested and
enamored.
My obsession began when my best friend, whose
enthusiasm for Goldfinger rivals my own, introduced me to their music.
Together, we have analyzed and dissected every song and every record, ranking
them in the most objective manner that two superfans can. And though each of
Goldfinger’s albums has its strengths, to me, their eponymous debut has always
come out on top, perhaps not as their best record, but certainly as my
favorite. To me, it is the epitome of their energy, and all of its sixteen
tracks (including the ridiculous prank call) exude originality, enthusiasm, and
honesty in amounts that I have yet to experience anywhere else.
Despite being released in the midst of the punk/ska
craze in the 90’s, and out of southern California no less, Goldfinger’s
self-titled record is anything but conventional. The combination of high
caliber musicianship and diverse influences produces an incredible amalgam of
sound that is completely unique to this act. Charlie Paulson absolutely murders
his guitar, ripping through solos and providing tasteful harmonization to John
Feldmann’s rhythm. The interaction between Charlie and John is flawless, their
compositions working together to create melodic and driving treble episodes.
This duo also provide a range of energy and intensity: “Miles Away” jumps with
pop-punk exhilaration, “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” features a slow reggae
groove, and “Nothing to Prove” is hardcore-punk at its finest.
Grounding two such creative and prolific lead players
would be a severe challenge for most rhythm-section men, but for Simon Williams
and Darrin Pfeiffer, it seems as natural as breathing. Simon’s bass tones punch
and rumble, and underneath the chord changes, his walking lines move as
seamlessly as a school of fish through the ocean. Darrin’s drumming is just as
complex, as his improvisational style, incredible speed, and thundering energy
meld endlessly beneath the strings, leaving no section without a rock-solid
percussive foundation. Both drums and bass take turns in the spotlight over the
course of Goldfinger, giving us moments to drool over each
instrument, yet even more incredible is how well these two players work
together. Darrin’s kick drum seems attached to Simon’s lower register, their
parts interweaving and meshing to provide impeccable backdrops to the treble
section.
Against this armada of instruments lay the vocal
stylings of John Feldmann, whose impassioned performances immediately suck the
listener into the maelstrom. His energy bleeds through the speakers, and the
fervor with which he sings and shouts is so apparent and honest that it’s easy
to forget he recorded his parts in a studio rather than in the middle of a mosh
pit. What’s more, every vocal part is tinged with the unmistakable accent of a
smile, assuring the listener that John Feldmann had a hell of a time recording
these vocals, and loved every second of it.
This excitement and delight dripping from John’s
vocals bleeds all over his lyrics as well. Although no poet, John concisely and
effectively communicates his ideas with his word choices, utilizing both
profanity and blatant honesty to leave no confusion as to his intent. In “The
City with Two Faces,” his choral scream of “Fuck LA!”[1]
is both powerful and catchy, and his self-loathing lament of “I know I’m fucked
up and I wish I was dead”[2]
in “Mind’s Eye” is sung with a voracity that almost contradicts his lyrical
moping. Most of John’s topics are personal yet universal, spinning tales of his
life at this point and delivering them so we can’t help but sing along. And
while he generally takes a serious approach, the humor ingrained in
Goldfinger’s being is hardly stifled: “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” grieves
over poor water pressure, and “Mable” regales a tale of a three-day
relationship ending in infidelity. Though the prose on Goldfinger demands
no dissection, every line is coated in mirth and conveyed with elegant
simplicity, leaving songs lodged in the head for hours afterward.
Without question, I could gush over this record until
I had a dissertation’s worth of text, because to me, there is a geyser of
intrinsic, almost primal truth welling from the creases in this jewel case.
Every note and every word on Goldfinger resounds with me more
than any other piece of music I’ve encountered. Thus, I feel a general overview
of such integrity would be an insult to both this incredible band and to my
readers, and only a track-by-track analysis can sufficiently bring every
incredible facet of this record to light.
1.Mind's Eye
With this opening track, Goldfinger sets the pace of their
debut record at a sprint. “Mind’s Eye” explodes with purified punk intensity,
kicking off with a slash beat drums and bullet-train chord progressions. John’s
vocal melodies soar through catchy rhythms that demand crowd participation.
Coupled with his exuberant delivery, his intelligent approach to his vocal part
creates a strong contrast against his whiny self-loathing lyrics, forcing us to
take his complaining in an ironic light. Despite the circle pit tempo, the
entire band is tight, nailing all their syncopated hits and transitions with
cold precision, immediately giving the listener a hearty serving of the
astonishing attention to detail that defines this band’s sound. Loud, fast, and
loaded with clever compositional choices, “Mind’s Eye” provides the perfect introduction
to an album, immersing the listener in all things Goldfinger by grabbing and
tossing him in headfirst.
2.Stay
Goldfinger charges through “Mind’s Eye” with such
ferocity that even when as barrel into “Stay,” not an iota of energy is lost.
In contrast to its predecessor’s manic feel, “Stay,” is more easy-going, a
pop-punk party with a hint of swing. The band starts at a moderate tempo,
letting the groove at the heart of the song thrive in palm mutes and heady
bass. John’s vocals take center-stage here, his melodies simple but extremely
effective. Against the norm, virtually none of John’s lines are tied together
with end rhyme, but his note choices and rhythmic singing is so fluid and
natural that each lyric seems to slide naturally into the next.
With “Stay,” Goldfinger introduces on this record a
musical theme that is prevalent throughout their career: the sudden change in
energy, where the entire band unexpectedly yanks the throttle to full. “Stay”
gives us a first taste of this idea when the instrumentation slips out of the
swinging groove into a soft bridge: Darrin taps his ride cymbal and Charlie
picks through chords while John laments the absence of his significant other.
They let this lull go just long enough to set in, and then immediately burst
into fast hits and thrumming power chords, repeating both verse and chorus at a
manic pace and sprinting to the end of the song. This abrupt outburst turns
knocks “Stay” from being a great tune into being an incredible one, and the
ferocious way that Goldfinger pulls the trigger on this double-time coda
demonstrates just how enthusiastic these four musicians are about their music.
3.Here in Your Bedroom
Because of its moderate success as a single, for the many
uninitiated, “Here in Your Bedroom” counts as their only exposure to this
monster act. Fortunately for them, however, this tune is easily one of the best
examples of the myriad and multifaceted sound of Goldfinger. Opening with a fun
and complex syncopated drum beat, Darrin sets the stage as ska with his raucous
rimshots, supporting the upstroke chords and inventive melody that soon
follows. Charlie and Simon drive the feel of the song, and the band’s decision
to modulate this riff with each chord creates harmonies and progressions that
flirt with jazz theory. Realistically, most acts have trouble pulling off one
key change, and for anyone else, the decision to play verses in a completely
separate key from the chorus would be insane. Yet Goldfinger proves that
audacity pays off, as this continual shift in key (another theme that spans
this band’s entire career) is executed with effortless grace and confidence.
One factor that really sticks out in this song is
John’s dualistic approach to the subject matter. At first listen, the lyrical
ideas seem almost obvious: the speaker, languishing comfortably in his
relationship, secretly frets over the security of that position, knowing that
overnight, everything could change and he could be left behind. The initial
read suggests this almost clingy character refusing to let the relationship
grow and refusing to grow himself, as in the chorus he continually repeats “I
still feel the same.” However, a closer look at the verses makes the nature of
the song take a 180. The speaker’s admissions of “Here in your bedroom / I can
turn my head off / The less that I feel / Is the less that I’m on top” can be
read to suggest that he comes to this girl with the intention of not thinking
or feeling anything—in his mind, there is no commitment or relationship, only
what exists between them in the bedroom, and his incessant worrying of “will
you still feel the same” is a fear that she will begin to feel something more
than physical attraction. Thus, using very simple language, John creates a
dichotomous paradox of words with “Here in Your Bedroom,” simultaneously
describes a longing for and aversion to deep connection.[3]
4.Only A Day
A short burst of pop-punk, “Only a Day” is two minutes
packed with absolute passion and devotion. Goldfinger comes in with guns
blazing and maintains this fury through the whole song. Simon’s bass tones are
especially punchy underneath Charlie’s feedback-ridden guitar riffs, and Darrin
smashes his snare so hard it sounds as if he is striving to shatter the head.
John’s vocals are just as ardent, as he relies on shouting much more than
actual singing, yet his interesting melodies and catchy songwriting only
benefit from the extra energy bleeding through the speakers. Even when the song
breaks down into a gentle acoustic facsimile of the verse (one of my favorite
moments on this record), the hushed tone only serves as a launch pad for these
four to explode outwards towards the coda. Between its heavy intro and
syncopated chorus hits, “Only a Day” never fails to pump me up, and remains one
of my absolute favorite tunes from Goldfinger’s catalog.
5.King for a Day
Where its predecessor was as straight forward as music
can be, by comparison, “King for a Day” is perhaps one of the most
sophisticated compositions on Goldfinger. The song operates on the
very idea of modal changes: the verse and chorus are rooted primarily in D
mixolydian, yet the song shifts a whole tritone for the verse into G# major.
Such drastic key changes are unheard of outside of freeform jazz, yet
Goldfinger cruises between these keys without breaking a sweat—even John’s
vocals shift modes without so much as a stutter. This casual grace and
confidence is reflected in John’s lyrics, which offer a tender warning against
working ourselves into the ground for no reason. His informal delivery of lines
like “If I write this song to you / would you listen up? / ‘Cause this is your
life, it’s not mine”[4]
remind us how important it is to occasionally just step back and groove,
because behind all the wealth, power, and drive, we are still only human.
The relaxed and unconcerned tone of “King for a
Day” is reflected in the musicianship on this track, although with a different
intention. In a 1996 interview with Drop-D
Magazine, Simon Williams asserts that
“we’re just a pop band that touches on reggae, ska, and punk….I don’t want us
to be caught up in any trends.”[5]
Despite such a humble assessment, Goldfinger are truly masters of
genre-blending, and with this tune, they deftly distill the elements of reggae
through their unique filter: Darrin’s kick drum is loaded with heady reverb,
and Simon’s bass line strolls with the laid-back elegance of a celebrity.
However, Goldfinger doesn’t stop there in their quest to drop reggae knowledge,
instead adding a smooth and subtle organ and captivating horn lines (provided in
part by members of ska-powerhouse Reel Big Fish) to really seal the flavor.
Goldfinger’s ska influences are obvious and
authentic, but this particular tinge of rude flavor has a more intelligent
application. The band gives us two verse-chorus alternations in this reggae
voice, letting the trumpets and upstroke chords lull us into a sway, only to
abruptly dump the clutch into high gear, propelling us into punk slash beats
and heavy distortion, completely reimagining the song at double the speed and
triple the volume. With “King for a Day,” besides showing off their technical
skills, Goldfinger proves that they are audacious, spending almost an entire
song convincing us that we can relax to the music, only to whip us into a
sudden frenzy and toss us into the pit like a stage-diver.
6.Anxiety
Though I love this record through and through, there is
one performance that far outshines everything else imprinted on this disc for
me, exuding more vitality and vigor than any other song. For me, “Anxiety” is
the absolute epitome of music, a song more multifaceted, intricate, and sincere
than any other piece of music I’ve ever heard, and everything that Goldfinger
does in its two-and-a-half minutes unequivocally proves my point. This song is
packed with more energy than a power plant, but simultaneously our core four
performs their parts with precision and cognizance. Simon pummels his bass,
Charlie shreds through a melodic guitar solo that is both engaging and
inspiring, and Darrin utilizes every cymbal in his kit, from tiny pops of the
splash in the second verse to upbeat smashes of the bell in the chorus. The
drumming in this song is entirely unbelievable—Darrin is incredibly precise
throughout, laying down hard beats and complicated fills that would make other
drummers forfeit the trade. However, the overall flavor of his playing feels
very improvised, as if he is sitting behind the kit with only an inkling of how
the song goes. His faultless and paradoxical meld of order and chaos endows
“Anxiety” with percussion so intense and animated, I would dare to call it
alive.
While John’s thrashing guitar holds down the chord
changes beneath Charlie’s truly astonishing lead parts, it is the frontman’s vocal
and lyrical contributions that really take “Anxiety” into the atmosphere. On
this tune especially can we hear his smile pervading the vocal, especially at
the tail-end of the chorus with the line “Feel it all and know that this will
pass.” The message ingrained in the lyrics is one that is just as stimulating
as the musicianship, as John urges his listener to stay strong against the
overwhelming human urge to overanalyze and overcomplicate every challenge that
decides to interrupt our lives. His verses trace the spiraling progression of a
person under stress and their slow dissociation from responsibility: the
subject begins by “thinking about it,” but quickly shrugs off their own
capability, leaving it in the hands of a great power by “praying about it,”
until finally they buckle under the perceived weight and start crying, giving
in to despair.[6]
Through this entire progression, John remains the
voice of reason, reminding us that there will be waves too big for us to
handle. He asserts that life doesn’t always have to be taken so seriously,
because with enough time, even the worst trials will pass. Between the
exceptional instrumentation and its sober-yet-unconcerned message, “Anxiety”
has remained for over ten years my all-time favorite composition. It is an
anthem to which I can rock out or meditate, a song born by serious musicians
who refuse to take life seriously and who remind me always to do the same.
7.Answers
In sharp contrast to the fierce punk of the previous
track, Goldfinger decides to let their ska side fully shine with “Answers.”
This atypical minor-key jaunt is led by Charlie’s raging and catchy guitar
melody, which interweaves itself with John’s searing vocals. In keeping with
their genre choice, the chorus is laden with gang vocals, the whole band
stepping in to support John’s accusatory demand to “tell me where your
skeleton’s hiding.”[7] The flavor is further
sustained with the added horn section, featuring a soulful trombone solo from
RBF’s Dan Regan. Though in live performance, Charlie’s melodic riffing would
normally take the spotlight in this tune, he humbly bows to the horns in this
recording, letting them fill the sonic space in typical third-wave fashion. All
the way through its devolving and frightening outro, “Answers” embodies the
essence of the So Cal sound that this band arose from, but filters it through
the enthusiastic and earnest camaraderie of these four musicians to create a
unique and heady Goldfinger infusion.
8.Anything
Like “Only a Day” and “Anxiety,” “Anything” is another
track that delivers a short jab of pure Goldfinger, both in energy and sound.
The connection between Charlie and John as guitarists is extremely evident:
John’s switches between full-bodied power chords and harmonizing licks, while
Charlie layers both feedback and delightful leads on top. John’s lyrical
message is also conveyed with heart-rending honesty—though he knows he is a
“martyr” for a girl that fills him “up with emptiness,” he refuses to give her
anything less than all he is. His complete resignation to this situation of
undying love remaining unreciprocated is extremely tangible in his voice, so
much so that the pause after his line “I can see sometimes you don’t want me”
implies a punctuating shrug of acquiescence. Such frank sincerity is a key
factor in making meaningful music, and one listen proves that “Anything” is
naturally swarming with it.[8]
9.Mable
Up to this point, Goldfinger has been a
largely serious and intense endeavor, but with “Mable,” this band changes gears
entirely, revealing an integral part of their sound: humor. Leading off the
goofy jam in the pregap, “Mable” is John’s parody of the longing love song.
However, this torrid affair lasts only three days: John meets Mable on Sunday
and falls for her, so much so that as of Tuesday, he marries her, exclaiming to
the world “I’m with her now until I die.” However, on Tuesday, she is steeped
in infidelity, having left John for Charlie, who is apparently hung with “a
tube of cookie dough.” Besides the literal dick-measuring contest that ensues,
John’s sappy and stupid chorus lyrics complete the romantic satire with cliché
images of “smell[ing] the flowers” and “kiss[ing] all the babies.”[9]
Though the lyrics are absolutely incredulous, Goldfinger
attacks the music in their typical fashion, as Charlie drives the song with a
super-catchy and fun guitar riff. The tune also features an energy change, as
the band explodes into cut time into the final chorus, only to cut it back
again for the outro. “Mable,” now and always an absolute standard at Goldfinger
live shows, blends both the precision and absurdity that are absolutely pivotal
to what this band is, and even after years of beating it to death, remains a
fun and hilarious listen with every spin.
10.The City with Two Faces
In a similar vein to “Mable,” this tune is loaded with
tongue-in-cheek reference and sarcasm, and is Goldfinger’s ode to the poser.
“The City with Two Faces” kicks off with a heavy distorted bassline from Simon,
who launches the tune into overdrive. This song is super-heavy, and features
the violent and driving influence of metal on this band. The band opts for
dissonance in this one, putting distortion on everything (including the vocals),
and rocking a chorus whose two chords are tritones. John screams in disdain at
the posers and fakes roaming the streets of LA, who cultivate images of
themselves as punk rockers while complaining that their “espresso is too cold,”
before dumping the tune into a jazzy breakdown in which he takes on the voice
of one of these imposters.
Over Simon’s thick walking bass line, John pokes fun at
the farcical musicians overflowing from LA, who know LA’s “got some great
bands” before butchering the name of Bad Religion, skewing it into something
reminiscent of “Badger Legion.” He further shoves his foot in his mouth by
claiming that most of Nirvana’s songs were about heroin, thus ripping on the
faux-intelligence the music scene flaunts. John’s completely facetious rant is
both hysterical and intelligent, and drills home the fact that Goldfinger,
while being composed of four absolute goofballs, has an intelligent drive
behind even their humor.[10]
11.My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks
A slow and smooth reggae jam, “My Girlfriend’s Shower
Sucks” is Goldfinger’s breather, often cited as the mandatory slow song in a
set that allows them to relax for a moment. The chill vibe of this tune is
certainly conducive to relaxation for everyone except the speaker, who can’t
seem to get a worthwhile shower at his girlfriend’s place. Again, the band’s
humor overflows from this tune, as John compares the shower’s pressure to
urination, remarking that its poor performance makes him “grumpy” and causes
him to “lose hope.”[11]
Despite being hardly longer than a minute and offering little more than a
hearty laugh, “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” is a surprisingly complete song,
and give the listener a chance to recover from the intensity before diving back
in.
12.Miles Away
Every
record has a tune that is so catchy and fun, it can hardly come fast enough,
and for this record, “Miles Away” takes the cake. Goldfinger is an act known
for their live performances (indeed, in an interview with RockZone, Darrin states “[I want people to remember] that we were a
good live band. And goddamn sexy too), and the sheer vigor with which the band
rips through “miles Away” proves that it was made for the stage.[12]
A pop-punk anthem, this tune moves so quickly that sprinting wouldn’t keep you
up with it. Featuring thrashing power chords, bright guitar licks, and
incredible vocal harmonies, this tune demands singing along, and whips even the
most placid crown into a frenzy of punk piranhas. Also, for all of its
intricate and virile movement, “Miles Away” is extremely easy to digest, with
an easy melody and only the most subtle of flourish. “Miles Away” is
Goldfinger’s gift to those who supported them at live shows, a two minute
juggernaut during which dancing is not only obligatory, but a natural extension
of the music itself.
13.Nothing to Prove
Do you want thrashing madness frothing over from your
punk rock? Of course you do! And Goldfinger’s “Nothing to Prove” has enough
insanity to drive the whole world off the deep end. This song is Goldfinger’s
excursion into pure hardcore punk: Darrin’s batters his drums in slash beats
and somehow still manages to kick it into cut time, while Simon and Charlie
rake their strings into frays across quick moving chord changes that
undoubtedly left their fingers raw, if not bloody. John’s vocals move are so
fast that they border on a mad dash. The band flies through verse-chorus
changes before crashing into a heavy groove in the bridge that gives me chills
with each listen. There is so much passion in this song that the whole band
joins in on the chorus of “nothing to prove to you,” shouting as if these five
words are their last.[13]
“Nothing to Prove” is easily the most energetic and driving tune on Goldfinger, and impressed me so much
that my friends and I named our first band after it, motivating us every night
to play with as much passion as our heroes.
14.Pictures
Another dexterous tune loaded with groove, “Pictures”
opens up with a smooth and mosaic bassline from Simon Williams, and though the
rest of the band quickly jumps in, it’s clear that Simon owns this one. His
bass is deep and furious, but each note flows charmingly into its neighbor,
keeping the frame of the song collected yet elegant. The whole ensemble
reflects this elegance against the pop/ska backdrop, as Reel Big Fish’s horn
players return for one last bout of melodies, but as with most Goldfinger compositions,
the ska bleeds into other genres, as the band shuffles into a suddenly brutal
metal breakdown, built on tritones and syncopation, before taking on a more
standard punk sound to finish off the tune.
Like the composition, the lyrics in “Pictures”
twist and turn in all directions. John’s lyrics take an ambiguous approach to
the subject of love, touching on the many facets and implications created in a
relationship. He plays the clingy lover in the first verse, complaining “Here I
am alone again / it seems like your never there,” but in the second verse, he
is the romantic, proclaiming “I’m so glad you’re here / I can’t believe I
deserve you / I thought I’d let you know.” Furthermore, while he takes these
conflicting voices of love, the song’s overall topic carries dichotomous
undertones. On one level, John’s request for a picture of his lover is cute if
not innocent, but on another his need to “look at you when you’re not there”
can be taken as a request from a sexually frustrated lover who lacks visual
stimulation.[14] John’s simple lines
explore every direction that love can take by layering them together, making
“Pictures” both an intelligent read and a sensational listen.
15.Phone Call
Though the track listing officially ends at 14,
Goldfinger leaves a few hidden and hilarious surprises tacked in the outro, and
the first, a prank phone call, is one of the most absurd things I’ve ever
heard. This call is the world’s first true introduction to the bedlam that is
Darrin Pfeiffer, a man who will soon be known for forcing audience members to
eat Twinkies wedged between his buttcheeks. In this call, Darrin answers a want
ad for a drummer, posing as the rude and strung-out “Tim-Dog.” Though Nigel,
the poor sap of a musician, attempts to ask relevant questions, Darrin takes
total control of the conversation, focusing mostly on the taboo topics of hard
drugs and STD’s. His interruptions become more crude and strange as the call
goes on, as Darrin claims to have moshed on “12 hits of acid” in a crowd of
melting people, but in the end, his ridiculous ruse somehow wins him an
audition for Abby Normal. For the world, this phone call is the first boom of
the coming storm of Darrin, but for Goldfinger to include such a skit on their
debut record is extremely bold. Goldfinger is this band’s
first true impression to the world, and with it they choose to flaunt the fact
that they don’t take themselves very seriously. Such honesty at the risk of
success is virtually unseen in the music industry, and Goldfinger’s audacity to
fly in the face of reason only verifies how confident and crazy these four
individuals (especially Darrin) are.
16.Fuck You and Your Cat
Goldfinger decides to officially close their eponymous
debut with a concocted shot of everything the record has worked to build. The minute-long
“Fuck You and Your Cat” starts slow with acoustic guitars and tapping
percussion, as John weaves through memories of a relationship in its honeymoon
twilight. But in typical Goldfinger fashion, the song turns into a thrash-punk
rocket, loaded with distortion, crunchy bass, and hasty beats. John shouts
disdainfully over the fracas, defaming his ex in the worst of ways as he sings
“So fuck your trust, your perfume and your mother too!”[15]
In this final one minute and sixteen seconds, Goldfinger recaps the many themes
that they’ve been working to solidify along the course of the entire record.
“Fuck You and Your Cat” works energy changes, incredible instrumentation,
profuse humor, and angsty relationship-related lyrical images, spinning them
all in one final burst of precise energy and enthusiasm. This hidden coda is a
perfect a footnote to Goldfinger’s record, reiterating the many musical ideals
with which they’ve been playing. It is a distilled shot of pure
Goldfinger, establishing the fundamental aspects of this band’s sound and style
that will define their coming career.
I completely understand that my love for all things
Goldfinger is certainly skewing my view of this record, and I accept that.
However, anyone who cracks open this record cannot deny the immeasurable
honesty that surges outward from this record in abundance. Goldfinger is
this band’s first true foray into the world as musicians—it is their first
opportunity to impress the world, and this band throws itself body and soul
into this record. Their enthusiasm for their own music runs rampant through the
album and flavors each tune, and is so contagious and constant that my only
impulse is to share in that raw energy.
In an interview with Al Muzer, Darrin states that “Pretty
much all we’ve ever really wanted to do [was] play shows in front of kids and
go completely crazy.”[16]
If Goldfinger shows anything at all,
it is that without doubt, this band has succeeded. With their self-titled
debut, Goldfinger wastes not a second on sucking up, giving in, or selling out.
Every note and syllable is indelibly and absolutely theirs, a brutally honest
and humble impression of their hard work and passion. This record is their
imprint on the world, with a tone both serious and flippant, but never anything
less than 100% Goldfinger.
Whether or not you explore this record is up to you, but
know this: after ten years and hundreds of songs, I have yet to find anything
remotely as honest, intelligent, or downright fun as this record. It picks me
up when I am depressed or stressed, and it keeps me uplifted hours after my
speakers have gone silent. It has and continues to influence me as an artist, a
musician, and a person, and each time I spin it, I am left with a ringing in my
ears that urges me to be all I can be without compromise.
